Eternal Sorrows
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: He intertwined his soul with another to save both her and the universe they shared, but in doing so, he severed his own ties with mortality. An eternity later, he watches the obliging sand rise up and bury his material past...but he remains.


It's been a while since I've done a drabble/oneshot for GX, and this is an odd one in itself. Far in the future fic, and it is told in Judai's POV, if you can still call him Judai I guess. Who knows, even his name could have changed by then. But for convinience, assume it's in Judai's POV.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think

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**Eternal Sorrows**

He intertwined his soul with another to save both her and the universe they shared, but in doing so, he severed his own ties with mortality. An eternity later, he watches the obliging sand rise up and bury his material past...but he remains.

Judai Y & Yubel

Rating: T

Genre/s: Spiritual/Angst

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It is a strange thing, death. Something that is fated upon each individual once the innocent newborn takes their first breath of life, if not before. Life itself is a contract, a trust bestowed upon humankind only to be seized like the holy grail it was, inevitable. The vibrancy, the colour of life meant nothing so long as the veil of death loomed, the shadowed grip waiting to collect its dues, another soul passing from the realm of this world and being erased from metaphysical existence. A corpse, a mass of constantly decaying flesh remains, till eventually even those remnants are buried by the unyielding earth. Their stories may linger for a time, buried in memories, etched into documents and painted into images, but the obliging sea eventually rises up and washes all traces away; books, papers, paintings, film, all feel the hand of destruction by nature's, or another's, will. Memories fade, or else they too pass along as death sweeps them off their feet, and their one time existence is thus forgotten.

It is omnipresent, yet to varying degrees does one truly see, and recognise it. In the golden youth, one is too in awe of the world in which they exist to be able to grasp what lies beyond the surface of this life. Instincts rule till they develop into rationale, and innocence, always the childish innocence carried from age to age, shines out the darkness that looms.

Such innocence is eventually lost, as the decaying reality comes to life and the transition into adulthood is made. But perhaps even then, in the pinnacle of life, it seems as foreign a concept as the holy grail of perfectionist desire for which we so hopelessly strive, swept away like refuse by the obliging sea which day by day draws the thread of life so ever thinner. One sees death, but despite the sweet sorrows it leaves behind, it is mere fluttering in the breeze, an impossibility to grasp in the prime of one's life lest in the final moments in which denial and ignorance are absolutely denied.

But ignorance is perhaps the sin of youth, their still nurturing, sheltered minds unable to conceive anything different than what they live and what they dream. Perhaps to a deeper level they are aware of such a phenomenon some after all are taken at this ungodly hour.

Denial is another crime altogether, one perhaps that is more striking than lack of knowledge. Because with ignorance at least one is spared the looming shadows above them till the time comes from where on it matters not what one knows and accepts as truth; reality will, after all, run its course. However, eventually that merciful veil is shed, and questions rise.

We all have one little glimmer of youth before that doubt descends, the few gulps of air which sustain us for a time before the perishable breath is perished, and death is truly ironic, taunting, in that one can only truly want it when it is beyond their reach.

I don't mean suicide, the delusion of release or some romantic conquest one hopes to achieve by ripping apart the mortal frays that bind them tho the physical plane. I'm not talking about the fools who seek their five minutes fame only to fall into death's trap at the end of it while knowing, always knowing, their abode. I'm not talking about those rare few who reach the age where death no longer possesses the quality of ghastly surprise where it itself is simply accepted as a fact of all life. I'm talking about the instance when that nature is denied.

Eons have passed since, and all that remains from the beginning is the soul that remains tied to mine, the guardian spirit that watches over me from within and protects from both enemies of the time and time itself. Outside that, nothing endures; life goes on and memories fade, as the obliging sea of our finite minds bury it within the sandy depths to be forgotten and essentially destroyed as all evidence is lost...but something dim, something sad, always remains.

Eternal sorrow, for after all, joy and happiness, they all come and go with circumstance. The sadness however endures, a dull chord that strikes in recollection, even when the reasons for such are forgotten...because death riddles life, even when death itself is denied.

Eternally, we are bound to watch death. Eternally, we are bound to the sorrows it leaves behind.

And eternally, we are bound to each other; the guardianship and heraldry of gentle darkness as determined for us long ago.

That remains. Everything else is forgotten.


End file.
